One Last Struggle
by Flame Falcon
Summary: Entry for Oifey Jagen's contest. On a dead battlefield, Ike fights his apparent archenemy for the last time. The two trade words as well as blows, yet all is not right. When the fury is spent, and the defeated lie dead, do their words still mean anything? Was this Ike's last fight against the monster not only without, but also within?


**Here I am again with a news story as well as an entry to Oifey Jagen's contest. This is a prequel of sorts to my other Fire Emblem oneshot, _Parting of the Ways_ , though you don't need to have read it to enjoy this story. Without further ado, please enjoy. **

* * *

The rain began to abate as Ike trudged his way through the quagmire of the battlefield. Water, blood, and other less savory liquids soaked the earth, turning the once fertile fields of southern Crimea into a charnel lake. He had long since grown accustomed to the smell of the dead and decayed, but a battle this large had almost forced him to discharge what contents were left in his stomach. He brought Lucia's handkerchief to his nose, smelling the liberal application of perfume to give his senses some rest. He breathed a prayer to the heavens for her forward thinking.

Bodies were everywhere; piling on top of each other, hanging from the stakes that were driven into the ground to stop the incoming cavalry, and lying face down in the viscous ground. The rains from the previous night and through the day had not been kind to either side, especially to the Crimean Royal Knights. More than one knight had been knocked from his horse with a flesh wound, only to drown in the ground because of their heavy armor restrained their movements. Geoffrey was almost lost in such a way, before Ike had forcefully pulled him out of the ground.

Shaking the image from his head, Ike closed his eyes and listened to the field of battle around him, which was now as silent as the mass grave it would become. The rain that fell pattered on the ground, the plated armor of the dead, or a sickening sound of being enveloped into the already saturated earth.

Ike opened his eyes and looked at the dead. Many of them were still in the full bloom of their youth, plucked by the callous hand of warfare. The corpse of a Crimean soldier no more that fifteen winters old next to him looked as if he was asleep, if perhaps one overlooked the arrow lodged in his throat. Another laid not too far away, apparently spent his last few moments of life holding back his organs with both of his hands. There were none here that were alive. There was only carrion that had once been the future of nations.

He was about to return back to the camp where the comfort of being alive was to be found. To join the soldiers in raising a tankard to the fallen, to recount the deeds and valor of both the slain as well as the living, and back to Lucia's warm embrace. Even amongst the carnage of the battlefield, the thought of her brought a smile to his lips.

He turned to leave, forcing his feet through the sucking mud, but he heard something behind him. It was in the distance but in the tranquil silence that only a field of the dead could offer, he could hear the approaching newcomer. Someone was still alive! If he could save just one more, this endeavor would have been for something.

He spun around and was about to start his way towards the other survivor of the battle, until he stopped where he stood in the blood soaked earth. Rooted where he was, he saw the man. He was dressed in armor, black as midnight with such a hue that was almost lost in the background. A red cape fluttered in the breeze, and held in his hands was a mighty silver sword, the antithesis to Ragnell which was strapped to Ike's back. No, this was surely a trick of his senses. He had not slept for some time so this must have been an illusion. But the armor, the sword, the helmet… goddess even the way he breathed made it clear that it was undoubtedly him. "You must have been foolish to mistake me for a corpse, Ike."

The Black Knight, Zelgius, it had to be. But it could not be, no he had killed him in the Tower of Guidance when they had made their final push of Ashera. He had been drawn away from the main battle and the two swordsmen battled with such fury and vigor that it was as if two avatars of war were pitted against each other. Ike had called upon every last iota of force to finish Zelgius when the former made the fatal error of extending his reach to score a lacerating wound. Ike was sure he had killed him, perhaps he had escaped certain death again. Or perhaps it was an interloper tempting Ike's mood.

The Black Knight stepped forward a single pace, the slosh of his metal sabatons filling the empty void between the two warriors. Ike's hand moved slowly towards Ragnell strapped to his back. "Be you a macabre puppet, a doppelganger of the bastard, or my rival, be gone. I have far little patience to deal with you."

The Black Knight chuckled, a deep ghoulish sound coming from armor itself. "Ah, I see your wit has been dulled due to this pampered life you have indulged yourself in. A shame if your skills with the blade have done so as well. I did not find you to hear empty boasts or fake strident vengeful vows."

Ike pulled his golden blade from his back and held it aloft as his body became taut as an arrow. "Come then and face me, if you think my boasts are empty." The Black Knight chuckled again and slowly drew the long silver sword Ike remembered so well. Alondite, the sister and antithesis to his own sword. Alondite was swung from the left, then to the right with the finesse of a master swordsman. If this was to be a fight, it was against a foe who could back their words up with action.

"I believe your time on this mortal coil has finished, Ike. Lay your sword down like any other noble and feel the bite of my sword." Before those words left his mouth, the Black Knight charged Ike with a vengeful fury, taking Ike completely by surprise as he was forced to draw Ragnell with a lack of grace to throw up a hasty block.

The swords clashed together in a shower of sparks, the blow forcing a gasp out of Ike's lungs. His sword arm would have been shorn off at the elbow if he did not turn the slicing arc of the sword into a hammer blow. Ike parried the blade and brought his own sword into the Black Knight's guard, forcing his opponent to place himself in an awkward position to defend himself.

Blue flames began coruscated along Ragnell's edge as grayish unlight began to shine from the sword wielded by the Black Knight. The Knight brought his sword down again and again as the two equal warriors began to battle each other with all of the training they could draw upon. The Black Knight brought his sword around in a brutal cleave, and Ike could only manage to throw up his plated arm in defense. The blow was painful, bruising the bones in his off arm and eliciting a curse from the former mercenary commander.

Ike took a step back in the suckling mud, placing as much distance as he could between himself and his opponent. His movements were greatly restrained due to the inclement terrain he was fighting upon and there was none more favorable in sight for him to seek an advantage on. Oddly enough, despite his heavy armor, the Black Knight seemed unhindered by the terrain and moved through it as if it was a dried lakebed. "A shame, I expected more from you."

"And I thought you would finally be dead and done with." Ike said as he pulled a carcass off of an anti-cavalry spike driven into the ground and tossed it at the ground in front of his opponent, repeating the process three more times, creating something of a barrier between him and his opponent. Minor obstacles, but obstacles none of the less. The corpses proved useful when Ike brought his sword up to defend himself properly as the Knight stumbled in his form as he crossed the pile of corpses. Ike placed more distance as his opponent recovered from his folly. The Black Knight charged again and brought his sword down in a decapitating blow. Ike countered with his own sword, a tide of sparks washed over the two of them, yet it left Ike's face open for a powerful open palmed blow.

The force of the strike knocked him from his feet and sent him tumbling into the hungry earth. Slowed by the tacky soil, Ike barely moved out of the way as the Black Knight attempted to deliver a killing blow by driving his sword down. He pulled himself free from the consuming muck, barely having the time to bring his sword up to defend himself from the Black Knight's onslaught.

With each strike of their blades, Ike and his opponent tested each other with a series of faints, counter attacks, and distracting flurries of their chosen weapons. They soon locked blades, struggling against each other as they pushed against each other deeper into the ground consecrated by the blood of Tellius' youth. "You are… slower than I remember. You must have lost your edge" The Black Knight whispered the words under his helmet.

"My fangs may have been dulled in this time of rebuilding, but they can still tear you apart!" Ike growled his response and pushed back with all of his strength he could muster. He brought Ragnell up into the defenses of the Black Knight, driving the blade through the plated shoulder pad on the Knight's left arm, the smell of burnt flesh permeated the air. Ike expected to finish through with his attack, but before he could, the Black Knight drew the sword in deeper, pulling Ike into an almighty closed fist strike.

"Hurk!" The sound escaped Ike's mouth as he was knocked off balance. He pulled free his sword as he fell and swung around, his attack not having the full dedication and force behind it. It was reflected harmlessly by a simple riposte and Ike tried in vain to defend himself from the onslaught. The Black Knight's cunning and skill should have been the end of Ike, but the scion of Elena and Griel fought with a vengeful, desperate fury and managed to strafe away from the killing blow every time.

But Ike was already winded from the battle earlier in the day, while the Black Knight was at his peak. As their swords locked again and again, the fatigue began to become more evident in his strikes. "You are weaker than I recall, Ike. You have surrendered yourself to the lap of luxury given to you as an afterthought by the rulers of this nation." Another strike, the fatigue was like a ball and chain around each of his limbs. "You could easily be a king or emperor, lord of all the borec and laguz in the land if you wanted it. Instead you prostate yourself to a harlequin's former whore and a queen who is barely worthy of life, much less the respect and admiration of her people."

The words cut like the edge of his sword, but Ike refused to show any emotion beyond the rage that fueled his attacks. "Not the position I would normally accept, but I serve best where I am." The swordsmen struck out with his blue flamed sword, aiming to decapitate the head. The Black Knight ducked and only the top of his helmet was sheered away, leaving trickling pools of slag to run down the face of the mask.

"No, you have weakened yourself as you laid down to the orders of an ungrateful wench. Oh, and her queen too." The Black Knight slapped the flat of his blade against Ike's head, a deafening ringing sent his senses for a jarring ride. Ike tried to defend himself from the next blow but before he realized it, his sword was out of his hands and he was on his back in the muck with a mighty clawed boot stamped down in his chest.

The wind rushed out with a cry from Ike's lips as the Black Knight pressed his boot down on the breastplate, the metal folded in and pressed any remaining iota of oxygen from him. "Die, little princeling! You are nothing more than the misbegotten rulers of this world whose realm and power you could claim without any effort." There was something off with his voice, not just of what he spoke but _how_ he spoke it.

The Black Knight took a rasping breath as he begin to push Ike deeper into the hungry mud. The foul smell and taste of human mortality began to assault his senses as the muck began to cover him. Breath evaded him and Ike tried to resist but the grip of the Knight's boot remained firm. "Come, taste the elixir of death with me. Join your father and the wife he murdered in the world between worlds." The victorious warrior said between the breaths he heaved.

The Black Knight reached out with his spare hand and begun to push Ike's head deeper into the mud. Every instinct in Ike's body was beginning to fade as the breath he so desperately needed was being robbed from him. He was aegis against most attacks but in the mud he would drown like any other.

He had one chance. One last chance before the end.

He thrusted out with one of his hands and touched the scarlet tabard which was tinder dry despite their fighting. Summoning every last morsel of his willpower, Ike channeled that same energy he would use to alight his sword through is body, and ignited the robes.

The Black Knight cried out in pain as the flames became a searing conflagration and he burned like a grand funeral pyre. The grip on Ike relaxed as his attention was devoted to the flames that covered his armor. That laxity was all Ike needed. He surged forward, pulling in the Black Knight as a fulcrum to release himself from the dead earth. As he did so he drew free the dagger attached to his side, and slammed it up from under the helmet.

The Knight stood there for a moment, dumbfounded as to what just happened. Then the reality of the situation hit him and he collapsed into the ground, a fountain of crimson spilling forth from the wound as Ike pulled the dagger free. The person under the ruined helmet coughed and gargled a parting word as their life fled them. "Look upon me… and… and see what you will become."

"My fate is my own," Ike said as he gripped the helmet, "I decide what I will become." With those words said, he pulled the helmet free and instantly he felt as if he was drowning again. He looked upon his attacker, one who spoke of hidden agendas and ambition. The one who talked in a way only Ike knew how to. A man with dark blue hair and deep blue eyes, with toned skin splattered with blood.

The face was his own.

* * *

Ike shuttered awake, his body covered in a thin film of cold sweat. His heart threatened to burst out of his chest, and his breaths were deep as well as ragged. His head was swimming in a thousand different direction in the sea of thoughts, none of which seeking to offer the atoll he needed to find refuge. He ran his fingers over his constricted face, trying to feel any wounds that he suffered. The only liquid that touched his fingertips was sweat.

He breathed out silently as he noticed that his beloved was sleeping silently next to him. Lucia's naked form rose and fell with every breath in the pale moonlight. He ran her hands along her lithe edges of her body and enjoyed the delightful smell of exotic flowers in her hair. She convulsed for a moment in her sleep, but Ike knew what to do so she would remain asleep. _It was just a dream_ , he thought in his head with a wave of relief washing over his body.

But yet that wave was broken on a small part in the back of his head. A lingering part of doubt that caused him to sit up in his bed and bury his face in his hands. It may have been a dream, yes, but every dream has a grain of truth in it. Those things his… twin said to him, they were ridiculous. Tellius was rebuilding, the wounds of Ashera's judgement had begun to scab, and some say they had even begun to heal. He had little place in the victory he had fought and sacrificed so much to achieve. The nations would need rulers like Elincia, Tibarn, and the Silver Haired Maiden to guide them.

Then the thought hit him. How easy it would be to have him in that very position, as a King not just of Crimea or Daein, but of all the continent. He was the hero of the whole war, and if wanted anything lesser he could take it for himself without anyone who would/could stop him. Then there was the throne…

He shook his head with a very violent force. He was better than this, he did not need the throne. But on the same token he perhaps had sacrificed more than Elincia ever did and would have lost it all if not for his timely intervention. He felt revolted for even thinking that because if he didn't, the nymph of legends would not be sharing this bed with him.

He knew that there were many in Tellius who would follow him into the depths of hell if he so desired them to do so, skipping to a gay tune and unarmed. That power over people terrified him more than any tangible threat. Powerful men, men who only come around once a century, could have accomplished many great things for their people if they were not seduced by power. He had seen it before his eyes on many occasions, and each one drove him away from ever wanting to be in a position at power. Yet it also drew him in because there was always that voice at the back of his head that told him he would never stoop so low.

He stood up from the bed, walking back and forth in Lucia's bedroom at Castle Crimea. His own bare body shined in the light of the White Mother due to the thin layer of sweat covering his body. Titania, Mist, and even Ranulf had kept him in check from doing anything so rash or selfish for his own gain. But compared to him in the eyes of the people, they were insignificant. They could be silenced in a variety of ways ranging from threats to assassinations. Each critic could be taken care of and it was only a simple matter of time from claiming a throne from which none would surpass.

Pride. All of this was caused by the pride Ike felt whenever he saw the world around him. Misplaced pride at the fact that he and he alone saved this world. While he may have been a key figure, he was far from the only one who had to make sacrifices. Misplaced pride fueled his buried ambition for something greater than the simple limelight of a hero. Ambition would lead to the suffering of anyone he perceived as a threat to his goals.

Lucia stirred in the bed behind her, obviously missing the feeling of someone else sleeping next to her. "Ike… why are you awake?" Her voice was groggy and sapped of all energy.

He looked back to his blue haired beauty and smiled sadly. "A bad dream, love. Nothing more than that. Just needed to clear my head of everything."

Lucia returned the smile and yawned. "Come back in and maybe we can dispel such thoughts together should they persist."

Ike's sad smile turned into a wry one. "I have already winded you, and I doubt you would be able to keep up with that challenge." Lucia threw one of the spare pillows at him, before a sigh of defeat escaped her lips as she reclined back onto the bed before eventually drifting off back into the infinite void of nothingness.

 _She wouldn't stand for it_. Ike thought in his head as he watched his sleeping beauty. No matter how much the shared their feelings or stole private moments away in their room, Lucia's first love was to the protection of Crimea with Elincia leading it. Ike knew that if he wanted the throne, he would have to kill her directly or indirectly by an assassin.

The wind howled outside as Ike stood in the light shone in by the moon through the window. There was that monster inside of him he tried to keep under lock and key. But he could only placate it, not control it. It desired the thrill of something greater than sitting at Lucia's side as the Duke apparent for Delbray as they wait for a marriage that some whisper on baited breath or annoyance at the aspect of a bloodless ruling. He wanted none of this gilded cage pampered luxury offered that only reminded him of what he could do…

As a single cloud obscured the light of the moon, the thought hit him. He was thinking of such dour thoughts because there were no other challenges in Tellius for him beyond those of his own allies. Each one of his comrades would offer quite the test of his abilities in the art of warfare and beyond. Tellius was all that he knew, but there were more challenges… beyond the vail of the mountains and volcanoes. To uncharted lands, unheard of challenges, and more.

He clenched both of his fists as a trace of adrenaline flowed through his veins. Yes! That was it. He would find new adventures, beyond the world of political intrigue and idle threats. Where he would test his skills against monsters only he of this continent would see, and gain the glory to slate his inner ambitions.

But... that was something else. He would have to leave this whole world behind. He could not afford to take anyone in this insane quest for personal achievement. The mercenaries were settling down under Titania's supervision, most now having other responsibilities along with being a mercenary. Others had businesses, empires, or duchies to rule. Their responsibilities were elsewhere, and if he told them where he was going, they might follow at their peril.

He had to leave alone, no one else with him, no one with an idea of where he was headed.

He walked over to the wardrobe and saw his cleaned and polished suit of armor. As quiet as he could, he attached the plates of armor over his clothes. He made no sound, and if he did, Lucia did not hear him. With his last gauntlet attached to his forearm, he strapped Ragnell to his back and picked up the sack he would use to raid the kitchen for the needed supplies for his initial leg of the journey.

He stopped as his hand was about to push the door open into the unknown. He looked back to Lucia, asleep without a care in the world. She would not forgive him for leaving like this. She was the one who deserved the answer as to this apparent abandonment. He placed his bag on the ground and walked back to the bed one last time.

He knelt before it, his fingers ran through her hair one last time before he would depart. Part of him wanted to stay, just for one last night. No politics, not heroics, just two people sharing their feelings and opening their hearts to each other as if it was their last night alive. To feel her skin against his, to be lost in that emotional maelstrom of need, to feel whole.

But he could not. He needed to leave before that monster inside of him could no longer be contained in this peaceful world.

He reached into his breast pocked, unclasping the simple copper button and pulled out a small item. It was made of gold and platinum intertwining together. Embedded inside were two gems, a sapphire and an emerald.

It was meant for a day he had hope he would enjoy in peace with her. Such a gesture like this alone would not be enough to smooth over what he was to do. There was one last thing. He could not tell her where or why he was leaving, but he knew that words could bring peace to the restless.

He found a spare scrap of parchment and laid it on the desk next to the light of the moon, dipping a goose quill in the black ink. He would not write a long message, what he wrote was what he felt and what would bring calm in the years to come without him.

He finished his message and walked to a nearby nightstand. He laid the note down and read the contents on last time.

" _My dearest Lucia, forgive me of my childish behavior and all of my faults. With a heavy heart I must leave Crimea and all who live there in. Know, however, that I shall always be near you; in the brightest day and in the darkest night—amidst your happiest scenes and gloomiest hours—always; and if there is a soft summer's breeze upon your cheek, it shall be my breath; or the cool air fans your throbbing temple, it shall be my spirit passing by. Know that whenever you feel alone, I will always be thinking of you."_

He smiled sadly and placed the wedding ring on the paper. He placed the one he would wear around his own finger, a reminder to himself to all he had sacrificed. Ike bent over and gave one final kiss to the love of his life, savoring it as if it was the last sensation he would ever feel. Slowly, he pulled his lips away from her cheek.

He walked away and opened up the door leading to whatever fate had in store for him. He walked alone to finish this one last final struggle against himself, his only reminder of what he surrendered was wrapped snugly around his third left finger.


End file.
